


No Going Back (Build Me a Home)

by lecroixss



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Crying, Generally sad, Is there such a thing as sad fluff?, M/M, Not Iron Man 3 Compliant, Pepper is not a romantic interest, Post-Avengers (2012), Steve Needs a Hug, Steve can't go home, Tony is the only one there, avengerkink, hints of stony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 19:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6253819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecroixss/pseuds/lecroixss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers seems to be taking living in this century really well... Until he's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: Since I had no beta-reader, I went back and fixed some mistakes and generally tightened up the actual story part of the... well... story. You can skip Chapter 1 (the prologue) since it's just a bit of silliness that I imagined. (05/17/16)
> 
> First time posting any fic ever. No idea what possessed me. And yes, I am actually from NY but no, I don't know exactly what a Brooklyn accent from the 20s/30s ought to have sounded like. So forgive me in advance please. orz Only mild hints of Stony, and mostly Steve being sad and needing hugs. Split into a prologue and the actual work itself, because I didn't feel they didn't flow that well together.

Steve adapted to the 2000s remarkably well. As in, _remarkably_. Everyone expected him to be confused by things like smartphones and the internet and, hell, satellite television. In a way, for a while, he was. But what they hadn't accounted for was his almost endless patience and determination to learn everything in this century to his advantage. (He once confessed to Tony that he was sad that Howard's flying car had never worked out, which led Tony into creating an actual Back to the Future style hoverboard that Pepper promptly nixed).

  

He even took to videogames with a kind of wonder that was adorable as far as Tony was concerned. Steve and Thor could spend hours playing things like Kirby's Yarn World or Little Big Planet while Tony not so quietly criticized the structural integrity of their contraptions. Although Thor and Clint loved games like Call of Duty, Steve avoided them. He'd had enough of war to suit all the lifetimes he'd had, he said, conscious or not. Weirdly, Steve's favorite game for almost two months was the atrocity known as Nintendogs. He explained sheepishly to Tony while he was deliberating names for a beagle puppy that he'd been too allergic as a child to own a pet, not to mention too poor. And now as an Avenger, it would simply be 'irresponsible' to have a pet that they would hardly have time for.

  

He named the beagle Tommy and showed up twice a day to check up on it. Even more weird was the time that Tony caught Natasha playing fetch with Tommy. She'd simply given him a steely look and said that Steve was caught in meetings all day.

  

So, besides his juvenile choice of video games, Steve was adapting just fine. he only needed to be shown something two or three times before he could figure it out, and after a long talk about what an AI was and how JARVIS was so much more, things went faster as Steve simply had JARVIS explain or project images of anything he wanted to figure out.

  

Even the galas, publicity events, and status parties the Avengers attended didn't seem to faze the big man. Even Bruce and Thor were more spooked by them. Bruce dealt by deflecting to someone else as fast as possible, and Thor finally settled on 'best behavior' being translated as 'jovial to a fault.' But Steve was always gracious, back ramrod straight, smiling, walking carefully past even the paparazzi easily with a smile on his face that could have put Tony to shame if he were a lesser man. So maybe Steve didn't schmooze unless directed, but he was charming almost to a fault. He explained to Tony later that his experience selling bonds helped a lot. People took a lot of pictures and did things like ask him to kiss babies all the time, and his military training as well as his mother's influence ensured he would be a gentleman, or at least respectful, at all times.

  

And he was Captain _fucking_ America, for Christssakes. People seemed to take it for granted that he could be perfect and wonderful and charming and heroic as easily as breathing.

  

It wasn't until a year and an alien invasion later that Tony ever found out otherwise.

 

 

 


	2. August

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! A real story!

The top of the tower had always been a great place to stand and think. The air breezed across the top, buffered by a clever invention of Tony's that kept it from being so strong that mere mortals would fall off. Small heaters, triggered by human presence, warmed your way as you went, and there were chairs in a shed just ready for someone to sit on to sunbathe or just admire the view. And that's where Tony found Steve one night at around three in the morning after a gala in honor of, guess who, America's biggest sweetheart. And he wasn't talking about the latest boy band.

 

Steve was leaning against one of the railings, looking out over the city, a drink hanging loosely from his fingertips. If Tony didn't know better, he'd think it was scotch or whiskey, but Steve never drank unless directly offered. He _couldn't_ get drunk, and he'd confessed that he didn't particularly like the flavor. It was more out of politeness than anything else that he took drinks are parties. So when Tony sauntered up to stand beside him, mimicking his pose, he turned his head to regard the blond's drink speculatively.

 

"Apple juice, I bet. On the rocks?"

 

Steve had been looking somber, but a corner of his mouth quirked up at one corner when Tony spoke up. "Can you guess _any_ drink just by looking at it?"

 

"Not _every_ drink," Tony protested, taking a sip of his own. "I'm sure there's something out there I've never encountered." He waved his glass around vaguely. "Somewhere."

 

Silence descended on the pair. Among the plethora of things Tony Stark couldn't stand, one of them was silence. So he started filling it with meaningless chatter. Well, maybe not totally meaningless. Upgrades for the Stark tower, ideas for trick arrows for Clint, ways and ways to confuse Thor's ideas of 'Midgardian customs,' his latest ideas for flexible but more efficient armor for the troops if he could just convince Rhodey to convince _his_ superiors to take up the Stark contract in place of the others because, let's face it, SI would be worth the investment.

 

"You talk about it so casually," Steve interrupted quietly. Steve almost never interrupted unless he was frustrated or angry and right now, he didn't seem to be either. His focus was on balancing his glass just so on the railing, finding the perfect place for it to find equilibrium and absently crunching an ice cube in his mouth.

 

Derailed, Tony switched gears quickly. "Which part? Because, I mean, let's face it, convincing Thor that toilets are magical creatures that must be fed on a regular basis won't be that difficult."

 

Steve's expression didn't change; he didn't rise to the bait. "Saving people. Soldiers, I mean. Plans to make them safer every day, as safe as they can get. Making clean energy practically free. Hell, last month you were talking about privately funding a large-scale hydroponics system to increase food production while lowering costs."

 

Tony was used to lavish praise about his genius ideas, but somehow, coming from Steve in that melancholy tone, it was different.

 

"They're puzzles, you know? I like puzzles. Always have." He glanced to the side at his companion's face, and what he saw was somehow both alarming and humanizing at the same time. Steve's face, always so genuine and smiling, was looking more and more like Tony's plastic exterior. And if ever there was a man to know about building a strong façade, it was Tony Stark.

 

There was a long silence before Steve turned to slide down the railing, sitting at its base and turning the glass around and around in his hands. Tony never did know when to leave well enough alone.

 

"It's just so different," Steve said quietly. Almost so quietly that if Tony was any further away, he wouldn't have heard it at all. "You wake up one day and everything is different. Everything you know is gone. The only person you can remember can't even remember _you_ half the time. Even the buildings… Everyone tells me they're the same ones, historically preserved, or renovated or exact replicas, but they're really all just... empty."

 

Oh God, if there is something Tony is worse at than behaving himself, it's emotions. But something about Steve's quiet confession kept him rooted to the spot. Maybe they hadn't hit it off well, but he had respect for Steve at the very least, and maybe something else. Something he could think of later, when the world didn't need so much saving all at once. That was his excuse anyway, and damned if he wasn't going to stick to it.

 

"So, uh… what brought that on?" Tony tried awkwardly, taking Steve's glass from his before it broke.

 

"It's August 17th," Steve said, letting Tony take his empty glass. His hands, without anything else to do, hung limply at the wrists from their positions on his drawn-up knees. And maybe the glass wasn't the only thing that was about to break.

 

"Sorry… is that, uh, someone's birthday, or…?" Tony had never been good with dates. That's what he had Pepper and JARVIS for.

 

Steve tried to clear his throat, but his voice was still tight when he spoke. "Day Buck died. August 17th, maybe three or four in the afternoon, Swiss time."

 

Tony didn't know what to do in these circumstances. He politely didn't mention the tears slowly streaking down Steve's face, or the cracks rapidly crumbing away his strong façade. Instead, he gave Steve what was left of his drink. "Here."

 

Steve gave a watery, uncharacteristically sarcastic bark of laughter. "You know it won't help. Drank a whole bar dry once, right after. Not even a buzz."

 

Tony hadn't known about the bar. "Sorry."

 

"Yeah, me too," Steve said bitterly. But he slung back the amber liquid anyway. He looked at the empty glass and, with sudden force, crushed it in his grip. Dripping blood from one hand, he hung his head between his knees like someone trying not to throw up. And maybe he was.

 

Tony didn't know what to do. He really didn't. So he did the opposite of what his instincts would normally scream and carefully stroked Steve's perfect hair gently. It was only because of his proximity that he realized Steve was crying. Sobbing, really, in a quiet way, but his shoulders hunched and twitched in a way that Tony knew from experience all too well. If Tony didn't know better he'd say Steve was drunk and being maudlin, but that just wasn't an option. A small voice in Tony's heart told him that he knew what was wrong, but he doesn't want to admit that just yet. Admitting something like that would mean he would feel like he had to do something, and that would require an emotional investment. Ever since Obie and, well, basically his entire family, he didn't _do_ emotional investment.

 

Tony pulled out his (purely decorative until now) handkerchief and handed it to Steve. Silk, while pretty, didn't do a lot to soak up blood, but Steve seemed to appreciate the gesture, even if it made Tony flinch a little to watch the blond dig pieces of glass from his flesh. And he definitely didn't mention the tiny, breathless sounds that accompanied the tears sliding down Steve's face.

 

"I, ah…" Now that Tony's opened his mouth, he had to try and say something. He cursed his own reflex. What the hell was he supposed to say in this kind of situation? There was a long beat of silence, and he finally opened his mouth and said the only thing he could. "Sorry."

 

Steve's large form slid over and the next thing Tony knew his shoulder was being soaked with tears and Steve's face was on his neck, warm and wet and so, so vulnerable, like a child seeking comfort. Tony never learned how to comfort someone properly, and never much received it himself with a few exceptions. But he'd seen enough dramas and rom-coms to take educated guesses. He snaked his arm behind Steve's broad back and moved his hand in large, gentle circles, moving up towards the bigger man's shoulders. For some reason, that only made Steve both laugh and then let out another strangled sob. Tony paused, not sure what happened, but Steve only buried his face further so he resumed the motion.

 

"My ma…" Steve said quietly, moving so he could speak clearly, his breath dancing on Tony's shoulder and throat. "She used ta do that t' make me feel better. Before, ya know?" And it was that sudden slip that reminded Tony of all the pictures of Steve as a skinny kid in Brooklyn, determined but with more health problems than someone could count on both hands. These days, Steve only slipped into his old accent when yelling at baseball games or sometimes Smash Brothers. Even then, they were only little hints, lilts to certain words. Now Tony realized that it wasn't only Brooklyn but a tang of Irish in the way Steve spoke. First generation Irish, his memory supplied.

 

"Didn't know that," Tony said quietly. But he kept up the motion anyway, feeling Steve slowly but surely relax.

 

"Not that it's bad here, Tony. It ain't. Bad, I mean. So many things makin' life easier, better. Even for folks that used to be like us. But it ain't…"

 

 _Home_ was the word he didn't say, and it hung between them, delicate as crystal.

 

"You ever wish you could go back?" Tony asked quietly.

 

"Yeah. No." Steve made a tormented noise low in his throat, and Tony's heart constricted. In sympathy, he told himself. Sympathy.

 

"I wish… Well, there wasn't anything I coulda done for ma. She was gone before I even tried for the army. Maybe gotten her a nicer grave. Visited her like I oughta. But I miss little things, y'know? Flicks the old way, the music, thinkin' a' the things we'd do when it all got better." Right, the depression. "Even miss the rationing, almost. Made earnin' something really _mean_ something. Use'ta save rubber and tin just cause there wasn't gettin' any more, and later cause you needed it for the troops. You know: makin' do with what you had. Feels nice not needin' to ration, and since th' serum, all the food I can get's welcome. But it was just… different. Even the stuff they says is the same as before-- that's different too. Changed somehow, and it's like no one sees it but me. I got home from the war, but I never really got to. Not the same way. No one waitin', not even the old haunts. Hell, sometimes I even miss the barracks, or the tents. Packed in so tight you couldn't move without rammin' inta two other guys, couldn't sleep when Morita snored so loud you wanted ta smother him if you'd'a had a real pillow."

 

Tony's ministrations slowed. He'd had a taste of what that might feel like, but for the first time ever he tried to really imagine it. What if, when he came back from Afghanistan, Pepper had already moved on? Stane was CEO, they'd given him up for dead? His last living will carried out… He'd be able to fight it in court, of course, but pretend he couldn't. Pretend SHIELD had gotten him, if for nothing else than his brain and what it could do. Even JARVIS gone. Even with all the usual sights and sounds, what would that have been like? His mind rejected it the same way it always rejected the look on Obie's face when he'd taken the reactor. He remembered what triggered this whole thing.

 

"And Bucky, right?"

 

Steve flat-out sobbed at that, a strangled noise edging on hysteria. "Oh yeah, Buck. You remind me a' that jerk sometimes. Ladies on each arm, smile like a thousand watts. Beat you in modesty, though. Lookin' out for me even when I said I din't need it. Findin' ice after I got beat to hell and back for... whatever, really. After ma, he was the only person I had left. Closer as anythin'. Woulda followed each other t' the end. S'part of why I said yeah to Erskine. Can't defend or save anyone, ways I was. When I got there an' found him... Like a fuckin' miracle. Did everythin' I could, keepin' him safe, and he was still the same Buck, lookin' after me like I was ninety pounds of skin and asthma. No one coulda watched our backs better than us. That day... shoulda been faster for him. Shoulda…" Steve's voice cracked again. "Shoulda saved him. Or dove after him, now I know what the serum woulda done. Sonofabitch was too set. Thought a' others til the end. A' me. A' the Commandos, and the mission. Fuckin' jerk. Shoulda been thinkin' of hisself for once."

 

"Sounds like you," Tony said quietly.

 

"Bucky is-- _was_ \-- somethin' else. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph I miss that jerk." Steve brought his silk-wrapped hand up to his face, still protectively obscured by his knees, and bit his fist to muffle the cracking, lost noise bubbling out of his chest. Tony found himself moving to massage the back of Steve's neck. There was nothing else he could do.

 

Around an eternity and fifteen minutes later, Tony dared to take a peek at Steve's face. The other man was composing himself already, setting his jaw and collecting the pieces, like he was going to battle.

 

"You don’t have to go it alone, you know. There are--"

 

"I'm done with therapy." Although the lilt was still present, Steve's accent was rapidly retreating. Tucked behind the mask, Tony guessed. Along with everything else. "SHIELD threw tons of 'em at me. PTSD, stages of grieving, adaptation. I know. But look me in the eye and tell me you really understand," he challenged.

 

Tony didn't even try. He knew that no one else would be able to do it either. Not a single person in the entire world. And that kind of desolation could eat a man alive, he thought.

 

Another long pause later, Steve pulled away, almost reluctantly, Tony imagined, to sit more upright.

 

"Sorry about your glass. And kerchief. Bet it was silk."

 

"Hated that one anyway. Hate the whole set. Pep picked it out, but if it accidentally got ruined in the name of America I'd pretty sure I wouldn't get trouble. In fact." He removed his tie as well, taking off the tie tack before handing it over. "Use this one as a tissue. I'll convince my stylist to replace the set with something gold-themed before Pep gets to it this time."

 

That, at least, elicited a laugh from Steve. "I could just tear it for you and you can pretend one of your lady-friends was too enthusiastic."

 

"Whatever you want to do. Win for me either way, and no one really asks for specifics when I ruin shit anymore. Clothes are low on the list of things to be concerned about when replaced."

 

Instead, Steve wrapped his hands around either end of the tie, as if to use it to anchor himself. He twisted it back and forth, distorting the fine fabric as he tamed his emotions, breathing deep and flexing his hands to ground himself. Tony waited patiently for his next words. Steve swiped his eyes on his sleeve and looked at the ruined tie again, letting it hang limp now between his hands.

 

"Thanks," he said.

 

Tony inclined his head, shrugged one shoulder almost dismissively: No big deal. Things friends do for each other, his posture suggested.

 

"No, I… I mean it, Tony," Steve said earnestly. He faced Tony properly this time, twisting so pure blue could gaze into chocolate brown eyes. The dull illumination of the city below them did nothing to ruin Tony's perfectly clear view of Steve's sincerity and the vulnerability he now knew lay just under the surface. "Thank you. You didn't have to, ah, stick around. But you did and that… means a lot to me. I know we don't always get along, but… Well…" Steve ducked his head and looked away suddenly.

 

"I like to think we're friends," he said softly.

 

"Of course," Tony replied. He gently placed his hand on Steve's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "No one's perfect, Steve. Other people might expect it, but I like to think we've seen enough of each other to know that's not true. I don't know exactly what you're feeling, right now or any other time. But… well, if you need someone, I'm around. You're right that you can't go back, well… 'home,' I guess. Unless Richards builds a time machine in which case God help us all. And no one's given you enough time to grieve over everything you've lost. I bet the therapists told you all that, because they said a lot of it to me after Afghanistan and Obie. I also bet you were a lot nicer about what you told them to go do to themselves after the fourth or fifth time. People like us, we just keep busy instead. Shove it aside, don't think. But sometimes you just can't do it anymore. For a few minutes, or hours, or, hell, days. I get that much at least."

 

He watched as Steve's carefully built mask wavered for a moment. Tony ran his free hand over his own face, scrubbing at it. He sucked at this kind of thing. Reaching out impulsively, he gripped Steve's shoulder reassuringly; bracingly.

 

"The home you used to have might not be there anymore, but… well… I like to build stuff. And fix stuff. I can… uh… well, we can make you a new home here, if you want. Something different. Fresh start, all that. Had to do it myself after, well, everything, and I can tell you it hurts like hell and sometimes you don't know which way is up. But there are days when it's worth it. That click of coming home. Even if it's only sometimes at first. Even if sometimes you can't find that feeling for days. Looking for that one little click… Making that yourself, knowing you made it happen? It helps. _I'll_ help."

 

Steve looked at him again, then stared off into the middle distance. Tony began to wonder if he'd said too much, or just something stupid.

 

"You'll help, huh?"

 

Tony wanted to sigh in relief. Steve might not have sounded one hundred percent like their competent and fearless leader, but he didn't sound like a man about to break, either. "Genius, billionaire, and philanthropist at your service." He made a mock bow from his seat.

 

"I don't need all those things," Steve said quietly. "All I need right now is a friend."

 

Tony shifted his grip to touch Steve's hand. "Sorry. I get it. Tony Stark, friend, at your service. Still a genius and billionaire, though."

 

That one got a weak laugh from Steve, so Tony counted it as a win. He got up, dusting off the seat of his pants, and turned to offer his hand to Steve. Which was absurd, since Steve probably had a solid hundred pounds on him. But whatever. It wasn't like Tony ever played by the rules.

 

Steve took his hand anyway, even if he did use his own power to lever himself to his feet.

 

With the tone lightened, Tony slipped into a more relaxed state. "So I was thinking we just forget the party of the day downstairs and play Minecraft instead. No dynamite allowed. We can use my room. If we go missing too long Pep will try the common room first and I don't want to get caught. And your room doesn't have a huge projection screen." If he offered because Steve mentioned missing the press of his former squad surrounding him, then so what? His points all still stood firmly on their own.

 

"Sounds good." Steve replied. "I'll get cleaned up and meet you in ten. And no hacking to get easier items," he warned. Tony pretended to pout for a moment. Steve offered Tony back his ruined tie and kerchief. "No more navy blue for a while, I guess."

 

"Thank God."

 

"Thanks again, Tony." As Tony moved to take the items from Steve, the other man leaned in and brushed his lips chastely against Tony's. He wasn't sure which one of them was more surprised, but Tony was used to all kinds of things and either Steve didn't think much of it or was a better liar than Tony thought.

 

Steve turned hastily towards the elevator, already disappearing through the doors. "Forgot about the glass." He held up his blood-covered hand as explanation. " Better make it twenty," was all he said as the doors pulled closed.

 

Shrugging off his stupor, Tony picked up the surviving glass, still scented faintly of apples, and shoved ruined his accessories inelegantly into one pocket. What the hell was that? Maybe that's how people in the thirties used to thank each other? For a second he pressed his hand to his lips. They were still a little warm, even though it had been the barest of touches.

 

He shoved the thought into the space of his brain labeled 'Do Not Think About Ever Again Unless You Are Really Drunk' and had JARVIS summon the elevator back up for him, already calculating how much soda and popcorn (and coffee) they'd need.

 

Building a man out of time a place he could call home. It sounded impossible, but to Tony it was another puzzle to be solved. And he'd do it, not just because he liked puzzles, as he'd said to Steve. But because it mattered, and because Steve was his friend. And maybe because he never wanted to see that broken look on Steve's face ever again.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
